


Only Fools Rush In.

by CaptainNautical



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Pre-Slash, Work In Progress, Yelling, john yells and sherlock listens in this so far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 15:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainNautical/pseuds/CaptainNautical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John responds to some hate mail that he receives on his blog questioning his loyalty and friendship to Sherlock. His first response is to get wasted and storm back to Bakerstreet to confront his problem: How the two of them are going to move on.<br/>"Wise men say. Only fools rush in. But I can't help. Falling in love with you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Fools Rush In.

He reached out to turn the handle, but stopped when it was already open. Sherlock looked behind him, stepping back as if for an invisible figure as he looked to the second stare down. There was a scuff mark there that was a familiar confirmation that John Watson was the one that had left it there. He only left that there when he would stumble home from a pub and drunkenly swear quietly when he misjudged the step for the landing.

When he nudged the door open he found John sat down on his usual side of the table. Except it wasn't anymore and John had taken it to himself to move aside all of the papers

 

Sherlock had taken to stacking there in his place. John had two beer bottles beside his laptop; his face illuminated a light blue as he scrolled down with his forefinger in the dim light emitting from the orange street lamps filtering in through the barely drawn curtains. The man just glanced up at Sherlock, and the man in turn only stared at him. Mild curiosity filtered through him as he took his scarf apart and let it hang over his neck, but just as he was about to say anything in question to him, John interrupted with a voice that made Sherlock sand completely still.

 

"You know, I've been getting a lot of hate mail on my blog, recently." The slur in John's voice was just barely there, and he took another sip at the end of his sentence from the neck of a bottle held lazily between his forefinger and thumb. He leaned back in his chair, still not looking at Sherlock as he took his next breath to speak. "Comments on the most recent cases with you, but a lot on the last one I did with you about a month ago."

 

Sherlock dared a step forward, something on John's face was different. He was getting harder and harder to read these days. It was as if he was figuring out how to hide himself. Either that or Sherlock didn't know him anymore. John continued after another long sip, placing the bottle on the side of the table.

 

"Why haven't you and Sherlock been doing more cases together?" He read from one of the comments on his blog. "How come you haven't been keeping up with him? Why can't you just go and see him? Haven't you missed him? How could you do that to him to leave like this? What kind of a friend are you?" John then looked up at Sherlock, his eyes stern and his gaze hard-- but there was something else in it that scared Sherlock. From this distance of standing by the opening of the flat and where John was sat at the table, it looked as though there were tears in his eyes.

 

John's chair was suddenly scraping back against the ground and he was up off of it. "You know what. I'm bloody sick of it." His voice had suddenly rose and Sherlock blinked at him as he slammed his computer shut and shoved it forward, papers on the opposite end skittering off and flying against the ground in his wake. "Because you know- you know what?!" He rubbed under his nose and pointed a finger at Sherlock as he escaped the desk ad chair with harsh movements. Sherlock felt like an animal under a hunters gaze, but he stayed still, blinking at John as the man swallowed and choked down something Sherlock didn't understand.

 

"Why wouldn't I distance myself, Sherlock?!" John yelled. His voice was bouncing back and forth against it's pitches, exploding into a low yell with anger, then a sort of contemplating low tone of despair. The man being questioned stayed still and did not respond.

 

"Why wouldn't I!?" John continued. "When- When I'm told to watch my best friend jump off of a building in font of me." (The low despair had seeped back into his voice). "I grieved for two years!" The chair is grabbed with the tips of his fingers and slammed down to the floor with a loud slam that even makes Sherlock flinch. "Not just moping around the house thinking what the hell am I going to do, but sitting at your grave. At your fucking grave. I gave your flowers. I came and talked to you and stayed a whole night with your _grave_! And you come back-" John laughed, a sound that ripped hollowly from his throat as he stepped up closer to Sherlock and stared him in the face, tears forming in his eyes, and if Sherlock could have guessed they would be as hot as flames. He was close enough that Sherlock could see these glistening in the orange blue glow of the room, but he backed up so his back was against the wall.

 

"You come back like it's no big deal. Do you even understand what the fuck that did to me!? No you don't, you couldn't. Because that's neither of our areas is it?" Sherlock continued to stare, and John looked back at the bottles on the table as if for support. He turned back. "Then you just- you throw me back into this life I tried to forgot. I tried to--" John swallowed, and apparently swallowed down fire as his anger was spouting back up inside him, his frown deepening as he stepped forward and pressed a finger into Sherlock's chest. "Why wouldn't you let me help you!?" He yelled, his palms flattening and pushing him against the wall. "I could have! You _know_ I could have. Bullshit you wanted to protect me, Sherlock, don't even try to start to say that because you know I could have helped you! I wanted to be a part of your life! I wanted to prevent you from leaving me! But you did! You fucking left and I thought- I--" His fists were balled in Sherlock shirt, but suddenly he crumpled, his head bending forward as he made a choking noise. Sherlock blinked, his mouth opening without sound. When John lifted his head those hot tears were streaming down his face again. " _I could have loved you_."

**Author's Note:**

> I realize i'm not the most reliable at updating my things. But I promise with this one I'll try my best unlike some of my other works. Hope you guys like.


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